


Covenant

by Inevitable



Category: Elementary
Genre: F/M, not anti-Fiona, teetering on the line between friendship and more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inevitable/pseuds/Inevitable
Summary: In which there is a different kind of proposal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone. this is my first Elementary story, so do bear with me until I get into the rhythm of things here. I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy it too. and as it says on the tin, this is in no way perpetuating hate for any of the characters in the show.

Joan is prickly, has been feeling out of sorts as of late, uneasy in her skin as she sits in her basement office and tries to find a comfortable position to work, to analyse the contents of an old case.

She is ambling, irritable and sullen as she pushes the stacks of papers on her desk further back, pulls them forward again. Groans out loud when her careless shuffling knocks over the empty coffee mug, sends it clamouring onto the wooden floorboards and shatters.

She lowers her forehead to the edge of the table. 

From upstairs, she hears the click of the lock turning and the door swinging open, rolls her eyes then at the familiar tread of footsteps down the stairs from the foyer, despite that she'd nailed down the door again just yesterday.

And she can sense Sherlock behind her now — he is bouncing on his toes, clenching and unclenching his fists as he waits for her to turn around. 

He is miffed, that much she can see, frowning at her in that imperious way and his voice is gruff, unamused. “Well, what is it?” he asks. “Hm?”

“What is what?” Joan crosses her arms over her ribs, sits up straighter in her swivel. 

“Come on, Watson. You know precisely to what I am referring.” He waves pointedly toward her. In one hand, he is holding the box which houses his mother’s engagement ring, keeping it on him as he has made a habit of doing and somehow, this only serves to make her mood darker.

"Or do you want me to say it directly, hm? That you have been acting outside of your normal character these last weeks,” he says. “That you have been distracted from your work, quick to anger and dare I say it, performing something resembling the female equivalent of territorial pissing.”

Blinking, Joan stands at that. “I'm sorry, what did you —"

“ _Which_ ,” Sherlock continues, unperturbed. "I can only surmise is due to your being envious of my relationship with Fiona.”

Her eyes widen then, at the accusation, her jaw slackens before she composes herself, reigns herself in and Joan crosses her arms once more. “Because this has to be about you, right?"

Shaking her head, she makes her way to leave, to circle around Sherlock but he steps forward, is blocking her in now with his sturdy frame and she stares up at him in defiance, in disbelief.

Still, he persists in his tirade, proceeds to postulate, to punctuate with his flailing hands and the little leather box. “At first I thought it was because you, yourself have not been in a romantic relationship in some time. But then I recall it was you who encouraged this — me, her — perhaps even prematurely, without realising all that a real relationship might entail and how that would affect us.

"And I’ve come to the conclusion you have never had cause to be jealous before now, because any relationships I have had with other women have been either professional or purely as a means of physical release. Or in the anomalous case of Moriarty, your subconscious felt that she had more claim over me than you did during the infancy of our friendship.”

Joan throws her hands up in surrender, in defeat. Shrugs at him. “Okay, now you’re just being crazy."

“However,” he says. “My association with Fiona has recently been escalating in emotional intimacy, which hitherto has always been your domain, and you are now, in all likelihood and quite understandably, I might add, feeling quite threatened.”

She grabs her handbag, her keys, makes another attempt to circle him and this time he acquiesces, removes himself from the path toward the door.  “I— I can’t even believe you right now.” 

Sherlock calls her from behind. “It isn’t a criticism, Watson. Merely an observation.”

And she stops then, with her hand clenched on the doorknob. Pauses now, with hurt and anger rushing up inside her, and turns back around despite herself, to face him. 

“Okay, say that you’re right, which by the way, you’re not. But _if_ you were, what was the purpose of this self-serving ‘observation,’ exactly? What are you proposing exactly that you would have me —"

“Exactly, yes.” Sherlock bounces again, and his eyes are animated, bright and dancing in the dim light. "I _am_ in fact, proposing.” 

She frowns. “Wait, so I’m jealous and that means you’re proposing to Fiona?”

“Not to Fiona, Watson.” And Joan watches him warily as he steps nearer to her one more, closing the distance between them gently now, and his voice has gone quiet, honeyed and warm as he looks down softly at her face. “To you.” 

And her breath hitches for a moment, against all scientific reason, her heart stops briefly in her chest before he inclines his head.

He clears his throat. "While I recognise the confusion, I do not actually mean a proposal of marriage. As you know, I find that an archaic institution. No, instead, I propose that for the sake of our partnership, that I terminate my relationship with Fiona, and that I will not endeavour to enter into any other romantic entanglements, either."

The weight of his words heavy upon her now, Joan is shaking her head now, sealing the distance between them completely as she places a hand on his arm.

He pushes forth. “…And while I am not proposing that you should be bound by the same rules, in the interest of fairness, well it would be —”

“Sherlock, no,” she says, squeezing his arm. “That’s not what I want for you. Look, I’m sorry that you feel I have been making it difficult, because that was definitely not my intention. And if I’ve been behaving badly, for whatever reason, then it’s for me to change. This one isn’t on you.”

And for the first time in what may have been years, Joan feels her eyes welling with tears. "I am so proud of you for coming this far,” she says. "For not living ‘post-love' for the rest of your life, and I don’t ever want to be the person to get in the way of that.”

And for the first time in their acquaintanceship, Sherlock takes her hand with his, covers her fingers with his own where it rests on his sleeve. Brings his face closer to hers then, until their foreheads are nearly touching and she can feel his cool breath on her face when he whispers. 

“Please, Joan, hear me when I say this — that I can bear the loss of anything in this world, except the loss of you. 

"And if that means… if it means living a chaste life, or one that resembles an open marriage of sorts, I can assure you that in my estimation, it is a life worth living as long as it entails me coming home to the Brownstone… to you, every night. Because I have come to the realisation that such a life could not be accurately categorised as ‘post-love.’ ”

He extends the box toward her then, lifts the lid and Joan is laughing now, through the tears, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. “So what you’re saying is, you want us to stop seeing other people, live together forever and… you want me to wear your mother’s ring?”

“I do, Watson, yes,” he says. “Do you accept my proposal?”

And she is nodding now, vehemently, smiling brilliantly up at his face. “I think I do.”

And there is no bent knee when she extends to Sherlock her right hand, not her left, nor an embrace when he slides the ring onto her third finger, not the fourth but there are vows made between them that night, promises that will be kept and a happy ending in a world without ever afters. 


End file.
